Paradoxical
by helvengurl
Summary: When New Alegaesia and the Urgal Nations stand on the brink of war, their leaders devise peace in an unexpected place: a marriage. The leaders arrange a marriage between Eragon and an urgal princess- but they don't agree easily. Cowritten with PerectTen.
1. Chapter 1

Paradoxal

Chapter 1

A duty to one's Clan was a duty to one's family, in an Urgal world. A duty which, if left unattended or unfinished, would quickly result into a reason for expulsion, a schism of the Clan, the ceremonial disgrace of one's horns sawed off, or- the most usual of cases- painful death. For family in the Urgal culture was a thing of great love, but even more so, great loyalty. Disloyalty could not and would not be tolerated by the chieftains.

Even if a chieftain was in one's immediate family. Even if the chieftain was one's father; there were no exceptions. Even if the duty meant sure death, or lifelong misery, one was obligated to fulfill it with pride. One would take their duty silently and fulfill it to the best of their abilities honorably. There would be no arguments, no excuses.

At least, not in the presence of the rest of the Clan.

As soon as Mir walked- solemnly, slowly, as Urgals of the Bolvek Clan were still watching- into her sod house and closed the door, she turned on her chief.

"No!" The Urgal fairly screamed, after she was certain no Clansman could hear.

The Chief's great black eyebrows knit together in sorrow, but his amber eyes were clear and firm. "It is your duty. It is not an easy burden, but a noble one, my daughter."

Mir fairly growled at him. "But him? A human! The very thought is _disgusting_." the Urgal said, spitting out the words. "I am a warrior, just as you are. Not a. . . spawn-producer. Hybrids, _mutts_." she barked out the short words in horror.

The Chief was quick to console her on that point, at least. "The human government has granted you much leniency in that area, Mir. You do not have to produce heirs as a stipulation in the contract." He said, rubbing his ribbed horns in the way he often did when he thought he was delivering good news.

She snorted. "The idea is senseless, even still! An arranged marriage will not bring peace between the Urgal and human countries, it will bring war."

"Why will it bring war, my daughter?"

"One of us will be dead by the wedding night."

The Chief let out his great, booming laugh. The house shook. "No, I forbid you to kill him. It's in the marriage contract- 'No killing.' I put it in myself at the peace talks."

Mir scowled, making her pert, ugly face even uglier. "Why does it have to be me? I am a warrior, not a wife." She grabbed her stave from the sod wall, swinging it fearsomely to prove the fact.

At birth, female Urgals of the Bolvek Clan were separated into two groups. Babes under four Kangas were raised to be providers, scavengers, child-bearers. Babes over four Kangas were trained as warriors with the stave. Males, of course, were trained as warriors at any size- but if they showed no affinity toward it, they were quickly disowned and ran off. Mir, a daughter of the fiercest chief in all the Urgal lands, was born an unheard of six Kangas.

"The human government is offering their finest man- a _Dragon Rider_-" he spoke the words in hushed reverence. "For this marriage and treaty. The Urgal given had to be a prize. You are my daughter- bloodlines are, in my understanding, quite important in the human culture- and one of the fiercest warriors we have. Human soldiers still remember you from the Battle of Uru'baen."

Mir shook her head, lank black hair swinging. "They don't remember me. You have other daughters."

He eyed her levelly. "And you are the strongest of them all."

Mir stared back, then looked down and swore violently. "A _human_. They're hideous, and weak, and think they are superior to us. And you would have me live with one for a lifetime?" she asked bitterly, gruff voice quiet now.

For the first time, the Chief looked sorrowful. "I would have you be happy. But I am not only your father, but the father of many, and many an Urgal's happiness will be your burden. Think, Mir- you will save your people from a fate worse than a warrior's death by marrying the human. It is a worthy duty. And this human- this Rider- they sing songs about him, my daughter. You will be in the songs, too, as his wife."

The young Urgal woman scowled, but her yellow eyes weren't in it. "I would be in songs for my own victories, and not someone else's."

The great Chief smiled, a fearsome baring of sharpened teeth. "You may yet."

-

A shouting match was currently taking place in the Palace Throne Room. Maids scurried through the halls nervously, wondering what event might have happened to make the Queen and her council act in such a way. Stable boys soothed the anxious destriers down in the barns, and Prisoners of War in the dungeons started at the fearsome banging. It was miraculous that such a tantrum could be heard throughout the Uru'baen Palace, but Riders and Queens were never ones to voice opinions quietly.

Well, Nasuada was still reinventing the term 'Queen,' as she saw fit. "You will stop your tantrum immediately and agree to this, Eragon." she said quietly, in that steely tone.

The Rider kicked an urn with all his strength. It shattered, shards skittering across the great marble floor. "No! I will not. You have no right, Nasuada, though you sit on that pretty gold throne."

"_You_ placed this crown upon my head at the coronation, Eragon."

He snorted. "I regret it! You know I won't agree to it, Nasuada. You never believed I would. You held the peace talks too quietly, drew the contract up in the night. It's treachery."

Nasuada sighed. "The contract is signed, Eragon- you're as good as married." she said. Then, seeing Eragon's face, her own countenance softened. "You would do Alegaesia a great favor, you realize. Urgals and humans have been on the edge of war since the last one ended, and the last things the peasants need are sons drafted and taxes raised again."

Eragon swallowed, adam's apple bobbing. "There are other ways to make treaties-"

"You agreed that Urgals make good allies, and I've even heard you say that you'd trust an Urgal in battle more than a human soldier." the Queen blazed on. "Urgals have been treated worse than animals for the length of Alegaesia's history. Shouldn't our new Empire, if we're truly right and noble, be the first to change that?"

The Rider bowed the head. "Of course it should be. It will be. But why does it have to be marriage? And why does it have to be me? You know my vow, Nasuada." he said. The council members looked amongst themselves, intrigued.

Nasuada scoffed. "Your vow. A lovesick boy's revenge on the world when the object of his mooning wouldn't have him." The council tittered.

Eragon turned a bright tomato red. "I see you're taking great lengths to convince me. My vow of celibacy as a Rider is a very real promise, and I refuse to break it."

"You needn't consummate. As I understand, warrior female Urgals rarely have children."

Eragon let out a horrid little bark of laughter. "Urgal-man children. How awful." He shook his head. "No, I can't do it."

Nasuada cocked her head slyly, silently, atop the great gold throne. "Eragon," she said finally. "I could make you."

He stared at her, wondering if she would truly do it. She'd changed since she had become queen. Nasuada was harder, less emotional. It was what a tender new government needed, but it had come at a price. Nasuada had destroyed her friendships, and, in fact, all relationships outside of the Throne Room.

She'd been fun, once. Nasuada had been interesting, and intelligent, and trustworthy once. Eragon could hardly forget, seeing that, at one time, he'd trusted the young woman enough to whisper his name into her ear. He could never forget that.

Since then, since that lapse of judgment, the new Nasuada had appeared. A Nasuada who had no qualms with holding his name over Eragon's head.

She would make him.

"No!" Eragon yelled. "No, I am not marrying any Urgal. No, I am not giving into you and your. . . your insanity. I'm stronger than a name, and I refuse to marry for your convenience!" He would not, could not, give in. Eragon turned on his heel and walked for the massive oak doors. He and Saphira would leave Uru'Baen. He would make good on that prophecy, made all those years ago, and leave Alegaesia- to go to a place where no government or magic could control him. Eragon would be Eragon for once. Not a political figure, or a vanguard of the rebellion, or the Last Rider. He would-

"_Eld Gath_, I command you to stop. You _will_ marry the Urgal."

Eragon was stopped in his tracks by forces unseen. He would not give in. Eragon was a Rider and a powerful mage. He refused to be forced into line by two words. He willed his foot to move forward, just an inch. He pushed with all the muscle he had, but he could not move forward.

"I'm sorry, Eragon. It _is_ a noble thing." Nasuada said, having the nerve to be apologetic. Eragon gritted his teeth. "We will begin our travel to Urgal lands tomorrow. Go, and pack."

Eragon's feet began moving robotically toward the double doors. He screamed, and rained curses down on Nasuada, her mother, her descendants, that gold throne she sat on, her kingdom, her-

"Stop that, you sound like a pagan."

Eragon stopped.

-


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mir held her head high. She could not allow herself to lose her pride. An Urgal without pride was as disgraced as an Urgal without horns.

"You shall have two ceremonies; one according to elven customs, and one to humans. Thus all involved races will see the marriage as legitimate."

With a glare at her feet, Mir sat in stony silence. "What does law have to do with a legitimate marriage?" She turned her brown gaze up towards her father, her warrior's will rising up within.

Her father, however, was far too used to her, "Now that the subject of consummation has been brought up. Humans usually require consummation on the wedding night; however, Lady Nightstalker has found a way around it. We can fake consummation simply enough"

"What of Queen Night stalker's reflexes? Can she duck my furious blow? I trust whoring me out in some trans-species abomination was not your idea." How could she marry this man? Humans fought like pigs, cowards! She would proudly go into battle, even if she was sure to die; however, a marriage was a far different battlefield, one she was not ready for.

"My daughter, if you do not disperse with such talk, you will force my hand."

"To what? Obviously none forced your hand to sign this... this prison sentence!" Betrayal, anger and revenge swelled up within Mir. Such a horrible victory to be sung about her. Why couldn't it be of her battling Shrrgs in the mountains, or traversing the Burning Plains? Utter hopelessness consumed the bitter stew of agony, but Mir would not give into weakness. She would not cry. Warriors shed no tears. But how could she blindly agree to this in any form?

"I shall saw off your horns."

Mir set her jaw.

So she would marry a pig. She could not bear the disgrace of no horns.

"Here." Her father handed her a slim packet. "This tells of the customs you both shall need to know, and a letter from your betrothed. Read it. Know it. I will accept no less than complete compliance, Mir."

"For my horns, Father- not for you."

"Une?" Mir stifled laughter at another one of the human customs, "How do they believe that through tying one's wrists together, they seek to join two souls?"

"My dear, be soft to them." Her maid was those of the child-bearers, not prone to hardness. "Perhaps you will learn more through this than through battle."

Mir shook her head, "We have to pay them something called a 'dowry,' Une. Women are not free in this world. They are things. A piece in a strand of weaving, but owned exclusively by the weaver! How could my father have done this to me?" Her voice had grown softer, an effect not often taken on.

A wordless clasp upon the shoulder was all she received. Life would indeed be bleak. The man's face wasn't even appealing. He was pink, like a sick, dying Urgal, and with beady eyes like a pig. Disgusting.

* * *

"Nasuada!" Eragon gave into the rage he felt, ignoring Saphira's attempts to calm him, and flung a vase against the wall. "I still have yet to understand what you were thinking!"

Nasuada sat on her throne, giving him a bemused grin, "Eragon, do you seek to tear down the castle around my ears?" She stood imperiously, her slender finders resting on the edge of her throne before she waved the ladies and lords of the court away. "Give me freedom from you all for but an hour!" she charged, and they filed out obediently. "And you-" she pointed a finger at Eragon, "-cease this useless muttering."

"Why I ought to-"

"Stop talking, Eragon." He stopped obediently. "Thank the gods you know when not to trifle with me. Now Sit." He dutifully walked in front of her and sat, giving her a glare that meant hellfire should follow shortly. Sitting down wearily in her throne, she rubbed her temples before starting to speak, "two ceremonies will be held, Eragon. One human and one Urgalian." She held up a finger to shush Eragon's protest, "The first one should be simple enough for you to grasp sufficiently. The Urgalian ceremony, though…" she left the sentence hanging as she heaved a weary sigh.

"How complicated can it be? They're just brutes."

She smacked him sharply across the face. "And you are just ignorant." She narrowed her eyes at him, a cruel plot forming behind her sparkling eyes, "And since you seem quite adamant to refute and ignore what I am saying, Eragon, I do believe you've forced my hand. Faricia, come here." The maid skittered over, "Send for Angela. I will allow her to teach him. She seems to have a way with the simple-minded."

"Oh gods." Eragon deflated completely, running his hands through his hair, flustered. "I'm a rider! I don't have to sit and listen to brutish nonsense!"

"Eld Gath, you will sit there until I tell you to go." Nasuada glared at him angrily, and for a moment, Eragon entertained the idea of doing something childish to her, like pulling the water out of a nearby vase and dumping it on her head.

However, before he could do so, Angela came swirling in, Elva close behind with a look on her face that meant Angela was in a cheery mood. "So, my little frog," Angela patted Eragon's head, "I hear from a little birdie you've decided to be a big boy and move on from Arya. And with an Urgal, too! Good boy." She plopped in front of him, handing Elva the basket of herbs and mushrooms, instructing her to dice the mushrooms and grind the herbs.

"Now, Urgalian weddings are quite wonderfully quirky! First, there is a moment to spar over the woman in question, should there be any who object. Fortunately for you, I do believe Nar shall take care of that-"

"Fortunately for me?" Eragon roared "You mean, fortunate for whatever Urgal would cross me on such a day!"

She cocked her head to the side, giving him a curious look, before pulling out a quill and writing something down on a piece of paper.

"What are you doing, woman?" Eragon cried, infuriated.

"Oh, simply writing down my observations for the newest volume of my compilation of influential people. I'm noting you seem to have a problem with your ego, as well as an affinity to forgetting your manners when you become enraged. My name is Angela." She smiled cheerily as Eragon looked as though he was buried in a pile of dirty socks

"Now where was I…? Oh! That's right! As I was saying, the shaman conducts the ceremony, and both of you, considering the woman's warrior background, will wear your battle armor. Then you shall say a brief line or two, stating why you are marrying her, and her in like. Then you will turn to the Shaman, who will chant for your safety on the battlefield. Then you shall each pick a strand of string, whisper into the shaman's ear the color, at which point he will dye them wile chanting over them, and then give them to each to weave. You must flow a strict design when weaving your partner and yours will be especially special, as a human. You must choose an honorific color. I suggest red, for the blood she has spilt on the battlefield, or perhaps brown, to signify her affinity with the earth. Do not, not, not, not, not choose the color white, black, or pink. You then suggest she is a child, and thus, are incredibly insulting to her,"

"Thank god I'll outlive her." Eragon muttered. "Ow!" He cried, as both Angela and Nasuada struck him.

"Now, some simple Urgalian phrases would be…" and Eragon tuned her out, thinking instead that perhaps life would have been better if only he had gotten on that damn boat with Murtagh and Arya.


End file.
